


A Turian and a Human Walk into a Bar

by Orionis



Series: Shepard-Vakarian: Expanded [3]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Alien/Human Relationships, Awkward Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec (Mass Effect), Dating, Default Shepard (Mass Effect), Drunken Shenanigans, Established Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Mass Effect 3, Mass Effect 3: Citadel, Paragon Shepard (Mass Effect), Romance, Sex, Spacer (Mass Effect), Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28326333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orionis/pseuds/Orionis
Summary: "Took down a whole platoon of batarians on an abandoned station once," the young corporal continued. “Crazy stuff, you know? And that’s not even the wildest thing I’ve done -”Shepard looked straight ahead over her glass. “Have you ever made love to a seven-foot turian?”(Alternate bar scene, during shore leave. Rating may change for…eventual tango of the horizontal kind.)Despite being terrible at normal, civilian things like dating, Shepard and Garrus finally manage to enjoy some quality downtime together at a bar on the Wards. Over the course of a few Heatsinks (one dextro, one with umbrella, both on ice), Garrus opens up about his love life, and Shepard finds out why she’s been his only serious relationship in years.
Relationships: Female Shepard & Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Series: Shepard-Vakarian: Expanded [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069295
Comments: 42
Kudos: 132





	1. Early Bird Gets the Dextro Shots

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this came about. I just know I can't get enough of:  
> a) Shepard being self-aware about dating an alien  
> b) Shepard struggling in a civilian setting  
> c) Garrus doing Garrus things
> 
> Enjoy!

Down on the Wards, about ten minutes from the busier districts, a nondescript bar sat tucked away between a few specialty eateries, where it had been for about forty years without changing ownership. It was a homely place, still classy enough to be serving the good stuff, but not so high-end that there were doormen and black ties and politicians hanging around like on the Presidium. This was the kind of place Garrus had hung out at a lot while he lived on the Citadel; it was somewhere a stressed-out, restless officer could find a little peace and solace, along with some _real_ quality booze.

This was also the place he’d suggested to Shepard for their little date.

Being a bundle of nerves, regardless of how many months they’d been together and how many lightyears they’d travelled side by side, he’d arrived early – _very_ early, in fact, and had ended up bumping into an old C-Sec friend who used to frequent this place with him back in the day. It was quite the unexpected surprise to find Silvus Varo still hanging out here, and Varo had been just as surprised to see him. With over an hour to kill, he’d decided to have a round or two with him, catch up a little.

Garrus had been sure the man would have moved onto bigger and better things, or at least transferred somewhere on the Presidium. They’d always complained about the sheer volume of paperwork they’d had to wade through when they worked together, and had even shared an office at one point, squinting into the screens of their terminals and swapping notes, dousing themselves in dextro-modified caffeine to get through the late shifts. So many years had passed since the old C-Sec days, and the Citadel had gone through so many upheavals, but there he was: Officer Varo, now _Chief Investigator_ Varo, who’d been just as surprised to see Garrus as Garrus had been to see him. He was looking much as he always had. Same white tattoos, same orange eyes. Maybe a little longer in the tooth than before…but at least his face was intact, which was more than Garrus could have said about himself.

Garrus knocked back a shot; it was his first one on shore leave, so he’d had to make it good. The years had given him a discerning palate, so he’d gone for a Blue Lancer, specially imported on what was probably going to be the last shipment for a while. Now this wasn’t the battery acid that the cheap dextro bars served: this was the real deal. Spicy, smoky, with a hint of coppery heat that spread a pleasant warmth deep in his chest. It tasted like _Palaven_.

Beside him, Varo matched him with a Trebia Sunrise, and clunked the glass – barely thimble-sized, since the bar staff knew unconscious customers couldn’t get out their credit chits – down on the bar with a satisfied growl.

“Spirits, Vakarian, you sure look like you’ve taken some beatings. I guess it’s true you’ve been out on some special work with the Alliance. Your old man was _fuming_ when you left, you know. We all kept our heads down whenever Vakarian Senior did the rounds. But I guess it all worked out for you in the end, if you’re the one still buying the drinks…Is it true you worked with a Spectre?”

Garrus grinned. “How do you think I got front-row seats to the Battle of the Citadel?” he quipped drily, then added: “And before you ask, a lot of these past few years is…classified stuff. You know how it is.”

“Never thought you’d be the one on the other end of the red tape.” Varo sat back and gave a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is crazy. Nobody at the office thought they'd ever see you again. There was this doctor asking after you, junior officers spreading rumors that you’d gone crazy after the whole business with Saren, and your dad just about biting everyone’s heads off if they so much as breathed near him. You completely vanished for a few years. Some guys said they thought they saw you around last year, but nobody was sure. Can you at least tell me what you’re doing back here at this old watering hole with half your face missing? Your outfit’s too nice for a man knocked out of the game.”

Garrus touched his ruined mandible, a little self-consciously, and gave a broad shrug. “This? Nature of the job. But I couldn’t ask for better. I knew I shook things up at C-Sec when I left, but…even when things were tough with my new assignment, I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.” He lined up his next shot. “As for what I’m here for… _shore leave_. Meeting my girlfriend here in a couple hours, actually.”

He noticed Varo raise his eyebrows from the corner of his eye, and felt more than a little pleased.

“You _date_ now, too, huh? That _is_ crazy. Well, I’m not staying here for much longer anyway.” Another Trebia Sunrise arrived in Varo’s hand. “She from Palaven too, or one of the colonies?”

“Earth, actually. At least, her parents were.”

Varo frowned, glass halfway to his mouth. “Earth?”

“She’s, uh…” Garrus gave a bashful laugh. “She’s not a turian.”

He took his second shot, self-satisfied, and Varo spluttered his between his mandibles.


	2. Shaken and Stirred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard shakes up a few grunts over a Hanar-tini.

On the other side of the crowded bar, near a rowdy pack of Navy corporals also on shore leave, Shepard was perched stiffly on her stool, nursing a drink. She’d arrived here far too early, having wanted to give herself plenty of time to find this place amid the expected chaos of the Wards. As it happened, though, Garrus’ directions (and the little map he’d sent to her omni-tool) had led her to her objective with tactical precision, and now she was here with nearly a whole hour to spare. She should have known better than to doubt the orienteering skills of two highly-trained operatives…but it had been a very, very long time since she’d last _gone out_ anywhere. Much less gone out to _meet_ someone.

She absently tugged her hemline down for the twentieth time, not having expected it to hike up so much when she’d taken a seat. This dress had been one she’d bravely picked from the wardrobe Miranda had sent her as a housewarming gift – though what could have ever given Miranda the impression that she’d regularly worn this kind of stuff between deployments she had no idea. In spite of her misgivings, she’d still had a curious rummage through to see what better-put-together women wore out on the city. The results had unexpectedly surprised her; even _she’d_ had to admit that these flimsy fabrics felt silky and pleasant to the touch. And on the hangers, a few of them had looked like something a confident, attractive woman in charge might wear, so...she’d given this particular dress a chance. Just to see.

In the safe haven of her apartment, cramming herself into this thing had seemed like a good idea, but now that she could feel every stray breeze on her skin she was questioning that decision. Hell, she’d even put on _lingerie_ instead of _underwear_. How did other people deal with this? What she had on was definitely more modest and conservative than some of the things she’d seen on a few of the asari girls on the way here. But after years in armor and practical pants, she just felt like she might as well be here naked.

Consequently, when she’d arrived and spotted Garrus – here surprisingly early as well, unless she’d gotten the time wrong – only to find him already deep in conversation with another turian he clearly seemed to know, she’d made the strategic decision to sneak over to the bar and get herself some liquid courage first. She definitely didn’t feel like new introductions right away. Besides, it wasn’t even the arranged rendez-vous time yet, and Garrus would surely benefit from an opportunity to catch up with friends. She didn't want to monopolize _all_ his attention while they were on leave.

Shepard looked down at herself grimly. It was annoyingly apparent that her cleavage was telling a different story, boldly and obviously framed as it was by the sharp neckline of the dress. Usually all this was hidden behind several layers of fabric, mesh and carbon fibre, or at least some sensible fatigues if she was off-duty. Really she’d only picked this one for its sleeves, which better concealed the hard muscles in her arms…but the trade-off was that it sure exposed more chest than her Hahne-Kedar gear ever did.

Hmm. Maybe she wouldn’t monopolize all Garrus’ attention _right away_. But at some point she’d have to accept the inevitable. He could be a loose cannon when it came to her and nudity, they’d found out, partial or otherwise. Something about humans looking _extra_ naked with their unplated skin. His words, not hers.

_God_. Shepard’s thumb squeaked restless little circles in the condensation that frosted her glass. This was stupid. She should’ve just asked him to come straight to her apartment so they could get on with screwing each other’s brains out without this whole fuss beforehand. This dating thing wasn’t something they usually did. But Garrus had sounded pretty excited to show this place to her, and he was really quite sweet when he felt strongly about something…

Breathing deeply, determined to fend off the blush she could feel starting somewhere at her collarbone, Shepard took a big gulp of her drink, then immediately grimaced. _Wow_. It had sure been a long time since anything stronger than standard ration coffee had passed her lips…maybe a double had been overambitious. She’d only ordered the levo-friendly Hanar-tini because the name had given her some brief amusement, and it came with a jelly-shaped stirrer printed with the _Blasto_ logo. She resolved to finish this one and then finally go over to Garrus; by then she’d probably be on time...

“I mean…I’ve been personally invited to the Citadel Tower, a few times. Before that ship landed on it, of course. I went in the fountain on a dare…everyone at the barracks was talking about it for months.”

“No way!”

Shepard turned her head. Next to her, the corporals were busy puffing their chests out and loudly showing off, knocking about a few pitchers of Earth-imported beer. She rolled her eyes in fond annoyance. Growing up on ships, with parents in the military, and finally taking that career path herself, she knew their type well. They were always young, brash and confident, and couldn’t have seen many years of active service; though you’d never guess it from the way they talked themselves up. She'd known grunts like them all her life, some even personally.

Including one who’d been excited to prove himself on Eden Prime, a lifetime ago.

Her smile faltered a little.

* * *

The further Shepard got down her glass – she’d ordered a shot to go with it, now, for poor Jenkins and all the other eager young bastards who hadn’t made it -- the more the boasting was getting on her nerves. Worse still, they’d started chatting _to_ her, and she’d humored them with a vague hint that she was Navy too. More than that, though, she wasn’t going to let on.

To their credit, they were respectful once they knew she was Alliance; instead of trying to chat her up now, they were showing off and chatting _at_ her like starry-eyed cadets.

“Listen – listen…You know the little hazard cones they put around a spill or a construction zone?” she overheard one in the back saying. “I put one on every Keeper in Zakera Ward one time, and they wore them like hats for a whole day until C-Sec came round. Nobody ever found out how it happened. Lieutenant Kelmer still chewed us all out over it though, nothing gets past him.”

A lot of the others laughed, including one of the corporals – a young guy with a buzzcut – who was at her left elbow, grinning at her. He was the one who’d really been talking her ear off for the past ten minutes; not something she appreciated when she was already on edge and wondering if she ought to just bite the bullet and go over to Garrus and his friend.

“Hey, you got any wild stories? I bet you’ve seen a hell of a lot out there. I was around when the Citadel got attacked a few years back, by the way. Pretty much saved this whole Ward. Yep. Hackett was gonna give me a medal, but he didn’t want to downplay the rest of my squad’s work. I’ve met him a few times, I think he’s gonna recommend me for the N7 program.”

“How about that.” Shepard took a long drink.

“But that was back in the day, when I was still starting out. I got promoted a couple times for bravery, leadership, that kind of thing,” the young corporal continued, apparently oblivious to her eminent disinterest. “Got all kinds of experience under my belt now. Took down a whole platoon of batarians on an abandoned station once.” He shrugged. “Crazy stuff, you know? And that’s not even the _wildest_ thing I’ve done --”

Shepard looked straight ahead over her glass. “Have you ever made love to a seven-foot turian?” she asked.

That shut him up. He goggled at her in silence for a few seconds. Some of the others behind him who overheard did a double-take, their conversations unraveling. Then, scattered laughter broke out all at once, mostly at the expense of the corporal, whose reddening face wore the look of someone who’d just touched a live wire.

“Uh…n-no, ma’am, I have not.” He glanced over her in panic, bewildered and petrified, as if trying to gauge whether she was joking or if what she’d said was even physically possible.

Shepard smartly downed the rest of her drink, almost busting a vein trying to keep a straight face.

“Well, there are some things in life they just can’t train you for. As you were, corporal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus illustration [here.](https://orionisvi.tumblr.com/post/644132210553880576/i-havent-drawn-a-comic-thing-in-literal-eons-so)


	3. In the Mix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus and Shepard field questions about alien relationships in their own tactful ways. Archangel gets ambushed.

Varo leant against the bar, intrigued, but still a little dubious. “Dating a human, huh? What’s that like?”

Garrus swirled his drink nonchalantly, and his teeth glinted through his mandibles over the top of his cup. “That’s the feeling of two lips and ten fingers waking you up in the morning,” he drawled, subvocals purring over his words in reminiscence. “Softest skin you’ll ever touch… Waist you can really… _hang on_ to…”

“Oh yeah?” Varo looked pensive for a moment, glancing over at the humans around them thoughtfully. “Wow. Never would have thought you were into xeno stuff. I know everyone looks at asari once in a while, but…I guess I’ve never really thought about _humans_ in that way much, myself. Can’t really make any judgment there.”

“ _I_ certainly can,” Garrus said with confidence. “She’s great, my girl. Mmm. Humans aren’t all as delicate as they look, whatever they used to say at boot camp. She’s the type who can handle any combat situation, however tough it might seem.” He took a sip, then added: “In a cocktail dress, too, one time. You’d think it would’ve slowed her down, but _no_. She’s a real fighter.”

“I guess if you’re walking around without claws or plates you have to improvise,” Varo pondered. After a moment he glanced sideways at Garrus. “But you know, I was wondering – about the whole _dextro_ and _levo_ thing…”

“Easy. I have my own ration packs, she has hers.”

“No, no, I mean…if…you know…with _each other_ …?”

Garrus gave him a look. “A good officer never kisses and tells, Varo. First lesson at C-Sec Academy.”

His companion gave a great laugh, slapping a hand down on the tabletop. “Vakarian, if you were ever a good officer, then I was a hanar in a tiara.”

That put a glitter in his eye. “Then all I’m saying is: we manage it,” he said delicately.

* * *

Across the room, Shepard had attracted a few curious minds of her own. One of the braver corporals was leaning forward cautiously, eyes huge in drunken wonder; her friend from before had long excused himself and gone.

“Is it true what they say about turians?” he whispered, cagey, with the ill-advised boldness of youth. “Only...you hear some weird stuff when you first get deployed. Is it true that it's…you know...” – his voice became barely audible – “… _blue_?”

“Classified information,” she answered, always professional, even if her head was a little fuzzy from the Hanar-tini. “But…if you want to know that badly, you could just ask him.” She gestured casually towards the far side of the room where Garrus was sitting, still busy chatting with the other turian.

The pair of them must have struck an intimidating image, because the corporal gaped. There were a few murmurs from the others.

“You’ve _been with_ that one?” he asked bluntly.

Shepard waved a hand in vague dismissal, ignoring his lack of deference because this was just too damned fun. “No, not that one. The tall one, with all the scars.”

Right at that moment Garrus happened to laugh at something his friend said, fangs gleaming jagged in the light with his mandibles out, and the corporal shivered next to her.

“ _Wild_ ,” he whispered in an awed voice, slightly more humble. “I thought we were at war with those guys once. And what happened to his _face_?”

Shepard took another sip of her drink in a deliberate pause, the very image of nonchalance. She could sense the guys leaning in, even the ones pretending not to be listening.

“He had a little fight with an A-61 Mantis-class gunship.” The ice clinked in her glass as she put it down. “The gunship lost in the end. Sold for scrap…the pieces of it they could find, anyway.” Her eyes narrowed, a soft smile on her lips. “My man over there was on his feet the very next day like nothing ever happened. Just as tough as he is protective.”

The young men shuffled. There was a perceptible air of self-awareness among them all of a sudden, as if they were reaching some background consensus that being around her could soon make for another thrilling tale of danger in the vein of the ones they’d been telling tonight.

The corporals subtly stepped back, looking around themselves.

“Wow. Well, uh. That’s quite something. Uh...have yourself a nice evening, ma’am. How about we pack it up for the night, team?”

The others murmured in gruff agreement, making a show of yawning and swilling empty glasses. Shepard hid her smile behind pursed lips until they cleared their seats, and then silently burst out laughing, shaking her head.

It never got old, messing with junior officers. It was a time-honored tradition everywhere you went, no matter what corner of the galaxy you were in. But admittedly…it was kinda lonely to do it on your own.

She glanced over her shoulder again. Garrus was looking a little further into his drinks, like she was, if the way he was leaning on the table was anything to go by.

Screw it. Time to get on over there.

Shepard slid off her stool, tugged her dress back down into place one final time, and marched her way over.

* * *

“You know…One thing I was not prepared for,” Garrus mused largely to himself, his voice very low as he gazed into middle distance, “was that their mouths feel _exactly_ like their –”

“Status, Vakarian?” Shepard barked, unable to resist. The pair of them jumped.

“Oh!” Garrus straightened up, then his surprise and shock turned to visible admiration. “… _Hey_. I, uh…I didn’t know you were here already.”

If she’d overheard what she thought she had, the buffer of alcohol around her better judgment dampened her outrage – and that appreciative purr to Garrus’ voice was throwing her off balance as he took her in. She’d save the chewing out for later.

“Yeah, I thought I’d come here a little early,” she told him, hiding her amusement at the thinly-veiled panic on his face. It took a lot to get the jump on Garrus, so she’d savor it. “When did you get here?”

“A little while ago. I was…just catching up at the bar after I bumped into an old friend from C-Sec.”

The other turian inclined his head a little sheepishly; he looked slightly older than Garrus, orange-eyed and painted with white markings, and his demeanor seemed polite enough. Shepard gave him a curt nod, still trying to stand in a way that didn’t show too much chest or legs. “Jane Shepard. Nice to meet you.”

It looked for a moment like the turian’s mandibles were going to drop right off his face.

“Sh-Shepard?” he repeated, blinking rapidly, and he glanced between her and Garrus. “As in… _Commander_ Shepard?”

“As in _Garrus’ girlfriend,_ Shepard,” she told him deliberately, not really in the mood for limelight right now. “We’re on shore leave for a while, taking a break from duty. I’m just here to pick up my lovely date.”

The officer seemed to remember himself, sitting up straight. “Silvus Varo, ma’am. Uh…honor’s all mine. Have a…have a good night…!”

Garrus gave him an amicable slap on the shoulder that nearly unseated him, standing up to proffer his arm to Shepard.

“I guess I'll see you round, Varo,” he said. “It was nice catching up.”

“Uh…you too, Garrus,” Varo answered, a little weakly, and stared after them as they left. "You...too..."

* * *

“Rumor has it that Archangel’s getting old and sloppy,” Shepard told Garrus conversationally, taking his arm and leading him over to a free, quieter spot at the bar, under the glow of a neon palm tree. “Apparently he can stake out a location he knows inside-out but not notice his target’s been under his nose for half an hour. He even lets someone sneak up on him half-drunk. In heels.”

Garrus gave an awkward half-laugh, half-cough. “Damn. Yeah, he needs to pull himself together. It’s just that…he hasn’t been on many dates, you see. The whole thing just scrambles his head.” They took their seats, and his knee brushed hers, settling in comfortably near. “He should really make it up to you. And those are _very_ nice heels.”

Shepard shook her head, the smile breaking out, and Garrus relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry, Shepard,” he sighed, still a little contrite. “I just got a little carried away - Varo and I go way back. I had no idea you’d be in early too.”

She gave his arm a playful elbow. “Hey, no harm done. But where’s that sniper’s eye, huh?”

“I can tell you where it is _now_ ,” he offered helpfully, clearly admiring of her outfit, and she snorted.

“Smooth save, Vakarian. Let's just hope your mouth saves your ass the next time you're taking point.”


	4. Deep in the Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus and Shepard end up having an unexpectedly deep heart-to-heart over some Heatsinks. With tongues loosened, many revelations are made, and Shepard finds out exactly how and why Garrus wound up with her instead of any other interested party in the galaxy.

“So this was your old watering hole, huh?” Shepard leant on the bar-top, having another look around them and trying to picture a younger, unscarred Garrus hanging around here somewhere. His C-Sec days probably felt like a lifetime ago to him. She certainly felt that way about their first meeting, up in the Council Tower...Time just seemed to work differently, when you were living battle to battle.

“One of them,” Garrus explained. “This place was where most of us used to meet after work; _great_ turian liquor. And I hear the levo drinks are pretty good, too."

There was a definite mix of clientele at this bar, she’d noticed; her young friends from earlier had made up the bulk of the humans, but she could still see a couple more here and there, interspersed with asari and more than a few turians.

One turian in particular appeared to have taken a shine to Garrus: a tall and angular female who had been lingering at the edge of the crowd when they had passed to take their seats. Now she was obviously eyeing him up, trying to be subtle, although the sharpness of her eyes couldn’t hide her interest. Not that Garrus was going to notice. It had practically taken Shepard a semaphore and hand-drawn diagrams to get the idea of _her_ wanting him through that thick, plated head of his, when she’d first made a move on him.

And it was with good reason, too, that Garrus was being eyed up; even from Shepard’s human perspective he struck a pretty damn elegant and imposing figure, with his sharp features and roguish scars and that glint in his eye that could only mean he had trouble on his mind. He always moved with such certainty too – the sure sign of a body honed for combat through rigorous practice and discipline. The outfit didn’t hurt either. Out of his armor tonight, he was lean and lithe, dressed in a tailored suit that clung to his hips and long thighs. She had difficulty tearing her eyes away from those. Were those _buckles_ down his graceful legs? Turian fashion was a wonder. Always had that military polish, even in civilian settings…

“Like what you see, Shepard?” Garrus teased, catching her appreciative stare, and she met his eye unabashed.

“You know it. I’d almost forgotten what you looked like out of that armor. But if you swagger any more you’ll fall off that stool, so I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

Garrus shook his head, feigning offense, but his mandibles were inching down in a barely-concealed smile. “After all that time I spent getting myself pretty…”

Shepard laughed, and patted his arm in reassurance. “Oh, it’s not lost on me, don’t worry. You’re still the best-looking guy in here. Even if you’ve left half of your face at home.” She gave him a wink, and before he could open his mouth with the sly, searing comeback she could see glittering in his eye, she went on: “Hmm…I could go for another drink. You did promise me one.”

Garrus shut his mouth, clearly opting to fight back with gallantry.

“Anything for my honey.” He waved a three-fingered hand at the nearest barkeep. “Two Heatsinks, thanks – make one of them dextro.”

The bartender busied himself with a complex arrangement of bottles and cups, and after a moment two glasses slid their way towards them across the sleek table, both color-coded. The one that was hers even had a festive paper umbrella in it.

“”Heatsinks”?” Shepard repeated, arching an eyebrow. “I thought we were taking a break from military life for a few days.”

“We love what we do,” Garrus shrugged, and then put on a deeply pensive look. “You know, that reminds me…I knew this woman, once. Briefly. Alison _Gunn_. She would probably agree that the military stays with us wherever we go.”

Shepard groaned. She’d thought he was above reminding her; obviously he was going for the low blows now. “For the record, _Kasumi_ picked that alias. She thought it would pass me off as some kind of femme fatale. Beautiful but badass, she said.”

“She also picked that _dress_ , if memory serves me well,” Garrus added delicately, tracing the rim of his glass with a talon.

A laugh burst out of her. “Come on. That dress fit me worse than the name! None of Bekenstein’s other high-class socialites looked like _they_ punched sandbags all day. I stuck out like a sore thumb.”

His eyes flickered sideways to her. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’d say it fit you _very_ well. Even as someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about human fashion, I can tell you that that thing followed your _every_ curve in a very flattering way.” He took a sip. “Let’s call it my lack of bias.”

“I think you’re _very_ biased, Garrus.” Shepard shook her head. “I know how turians are about a waist. But you didn’t hear Kasumi in my earpiece telling me to stop squaring my shoulders every few minutes. Hardest infiltration mission I’ve ever done.”

“Well,” Garrus added mildly, “it can’t have been that bad. You’re wearing a dress _tonight_.” He gave her a pointed look, cocking his head admiringly.

Shepard only narrowed her eyes, refusing to be caught out. “One-time deal, Vakarian. For your benefit only. I can’t show my date up by turning up to the bar in fatigues. Especially when _he’s_ gone all-out on his wardrobe.”

“I’m flattered,” he chuckled, then casually leaned nearer, conspiratorial. “And I know you don’t do this kind of outfit usually, but…damn, Shepard. That neckline is something. You have to know what all that skin does to the imagination…” His eyes made their leisurely way downwards, just as his voice purred into deep bass.

Hearing his subvocals deliberately dip into the lower registers like that never failed to raise her heart rate; she could feel herself grow warm in response, unable to keep from leaning towards him, and it was only through tremendous effort that she restrained herself from…escalating the situation. Instead, she limited herself to a respectable smolder.

“Let’s have a few drinks together _before_ we get ourselves thrown out, shall we?” she said, finding her own voice a little husky.

“Sounds like a plan.” Humor glittered in his eyes; she knew turian faces well enough by now to recognize the set of his mandibles when he was smiling that very particular kind of smile… the smile that said that he _could_ follow up with some lascivious pun about Heatsinks, but was kindly _choosing_ not to because the blush on her was already enough. Smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing. _You win this one, Vakarian._

* * *

“ _So_ ,” Shepard said after a few calming breaths, taking a sip of her drink to distract herself – sharp, bracing, fading to a pleasant burn in her throat, “tell me something.”

“Fire away, Commander.”

“How is it that a good-looking, strong, _fantastically_ sexy turian like yourself never found that someone in his life, and ended up falling prey to a human instead?”

Garrus’ brow-plates lifted, evidently surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s a woman by that table over there who’s two feet taller than me with fangs and a fringe that could cut steel, and she’s had her eye on you ever since we walked past. And yet here you are hanging out with a human. One who was _dead_ for two years, but you still didn’t settle down with anyone in all that time either. Why is that? And don’t tell me none of the dangerous ladies of Omega had the hots for _Archangel_. He was the ultimate renegade wet dream.”

Garrus’ mandibles danced with a self-conscious laugh.

“Well. Sure, they did. But…I don’t know, Shepard. It just never worked out with anyone. Nothing beyond _physical_ …liaisons. The odd roll around in my apartment. Maybe a long trip down a short alley. I was tense back then, restless. There was no way I’d have settled down even if things had gone further. Having half the gangs of Omega after me really amped up the pressure. I needed…some outlet for that.”

Shepard raised her eyebrows. “Wow. I guess you really took the “bad boy” thing seriously,” she remarked. “You must have been a real heartbreaker, huh?”

Garrus gave a snort of dismissal. “It wasn’t as glamorous as it sounds. And – that was all _long_ before you told me how you felt about me, of course,” he added hurriedly. “I wouldn’t ask you to settle on me if I didn’t mean for us to be an exclusive deal for me, too.”

She patted his armored shoulder through his suit. “Relax, ladykiller, I’m just curious. I could probably tell you some _real_ horror stories about my past hook-ups sometime, if that makes us even. Though…maybe after a few more drinks than this.”

“That’s fair.” He sighed, and then added, more seriously: “…It didn’t make me feel all that good, you know, either. Just briefly, each time, only enough to distract me and take the edge off. You know what tension does to me.”

Shepard nodded in grim assent. “Last time you got really tense you slept with a human for the first time,” she agreed wholeheartedly. That made her wonder about something else… “So what about interspecies deals? There’s a whole universe to love out there, if what all those Fornax ads say is true. I remember you saying you hadn’t even considered it before I mentioned it…but come on. You had a human doctor in the Wards who’d been making eyes at you for who knows how long the first time I properly met you.”

Garrus nearly choked on his drink.

“Who? Dr Michel?” He seemed genuinely taken aback, dabbing at his chin distractedly. “You have to be kidding. She was just grateful for my help, that’s all. Some of you humans are pretty friendly, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She couldn't have thought of me in _that_ way. That’s crazy…right?”

Shepard gave him a disbelieving look. “You didn’t know? Garrus…that poor woman was dropping hints all over the place. You’d barely even scuffed your armor in the fight at the clinic, but I still heard her asking you if you wanted to come by later for _patching up_. She was trying to come onto her big strong turian hero, gliding in and saving the day like a total badass!”

Garrus stared, brow-plates arranged in a complex display of confusion. “But…I thought that was just her doing her job. You know, as a doctor who looks after people. And all those messages she used to send me never said anything about…” He caught the look on Shepard’s face, and groaned. “ _Damn it_. I should have noticed. I should have just set things straight from the beginning and saved her from getting her hopes up. It wouldn’t have worked out between us anyway.”

She raised her eyebrows at that. “Oh yeah? I thought you two were close?”

“Not that kind of close. The thing about Dr Michel…” He fidgeted with the edge of his cup, clearly struggling to put things into words, and sighed. “What you said just now about “big strong turian hero” is pretty much it. She’s only really seen me in action, maybe had a few chats with me on- and off-duty. I guess she could’ve gotten the wrong impression when I was around as protection. If it’s true she was attracted to me…then I get the impression it’s because she thinks I’m some damn hero. Had me up on some kind of pedestal.”

Shepard looked him up and down, loving him for his obliviousness. “But you _are_ a damn hero. As your CO I notice these things.”

Garrus shook his head impatiently. “That’s not what I’m getting at. What I’m getting at is…she’s always been nice to me, but it’s mostly just because she’s built up this idealized version of me in her mind. She wants something like _Archangel_. People love what he represents. He makes no mistakes, as far as they know. She’s never seen me pissed off, or, or _crazy_ , or making dumb decisions.”

“Hmm. I guess coming to a bar to get your love life probed counts as a dumb decision.” She clinked her glass against his sympathetically.

“I wouldn’t dream of telling a _Spectre_ to get out of my business.” His mandibles quirked. “But I don’t mind, actually. Talking things through with you always…opens my eyes to things.”

She couldn’t resist a grin, green eyes twinkling. “Like how Dr Michel was ready to pry you out of your armor with a crowbar if she could?”

That got her a withering look. “Hmph. Sounds more like your level of finesse.” Garrus waved down the bartender for another drink, and then leant his elbow on the bar.

“Now. I’ve got one for you,” he said, deliberate, lowering his chin and looking at her closely. “ _Kaidan_. He’s been part of your team longer than I have, and I know he’d have said yes if you’d ever made any _suggestion_ to him. From what I used to hear from other humans around the ship, he’s quite the looker, too.”

Shepard groaned. “Kasumi would have tried to set me up with him for sure. But Kaidan was never really my type. I respect him as a soldier, and as a friend…"

"But...?" Garrus supplied.

"But," she carried on with difficulty, "he wasn’t around when Cerberus had me and I was trying to get to grips with being _alive_ again. It was a hard time, trying to keep hold of what was familiar, but finding the world had moved on. I don’t blame him at all, he was perfectly right not to trust Cerberus…it’s just…it was a bad blow, to lose a friend like that.”

Garrus rumbled in sympathy. “I remember Horizon. Well, he was more sensible than me when it came to throwing in the towel and joining up with his resurrected Commander and the shady organization keeping hold of her. He hadn’t gone all…renegade in your absence.”

She snorted. “You’d never _stopped_ being impulsive,” she told him.

“True. But I still think he had a little passing thing for you. You two used to talk a lot in the mess hall, and he’s stuck close by you since you left Earth, that’s for sure.”

She put down her glass. “OK, Investigator Vakarian. Maybe you’re right…but it doesn’t really change anything.” Which was true; Kaidan had always been a competent fighter, and a loyal member of her team with a solid head on his shoulders. But she’d never thought of him as anything more. He’d never gotten as close to her heart as Garrus had.

She looked at him now, aware of just how much he had changed her and she had changed him. Theirs had been a partnership in contrast and in balance – her level-headedness had balanced out his drive for vengeance, and his determined spirit and unwavering sense of justice had shown her that sometimes the lawful path was not always the correct one. A surge of affection for him rose in her. No wonder she’d found herself thinking about him a lot during their fight against the Collectors, and craving the simple comfort of his company back in those early days of her second life. There were few squadmates who had been with her so loyally, for so long.

Although…

* * *

“Speaking of infatuations,” Shepard said shrewdly, a thought coming to mind, “I was going to ask you about _Tali_.”

Garrus’ reaction was a little different this time, she was interested to note; he shifted uncomfortably.

“So…I guess you’ve noticed.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow, wondering why he seemed a little put out. “Did something happen?”

His Heatsink was swirled distractedly in one hand. “No, not…exactly. But with Tali things are a…little different than what they were with Dr Michel.”

“You mean you weren’t totally oblivious this time around.”

“ _Yeah_.” Garrus rubbed his brow plates, looking deeply embarrassed. “The thing about Tali is…hell, she’s a great girl, fights well too, and I enjoy her company, but…” His mandibles worked, and a little sigh of resignation left him.

“Shepard, have you ever seen the vid “Fleet and Flotilla”?”

That took her by surprise. Where the hell was this going? “Uh, I’ve…heard of it, I think,” she said cautiously.

“Of course you have." He waved a hand impatiently. “It’s only the most famous interspecies romance vid ever made. Won just about every award in the galaxy, and the soundtrack is still selling millions of downloads. There are about a thousand spin-offs and _petabytes_ of fanmade media surrounding it, if you’re a super-fan. Which happens to be _exactly_ what Tali is.”

Shepard’s brow furrowed, rather lost. “Your point being…?”

“My point _being_ ,” he ground out, “that I think our Tali used to dream of a self-insert role. Even if she'd never admit it herself. She even tried to convince me I look like Bellicus. Though I _really_ don’t see it...his plates are completely different.”

Shepard burst out laughing, not just at the ridiculousness of everything, but at the grumpy, flustered tone in his subvocals. “So…she really just wants you to be the _Fleet_ to her _Flotilla_ , huh?”

Garrus wasn’t amused. “Shepard…”

“OK, OK, point taken. Our Tali’s a hopeless romantic. Another case of projection, then, wanting you to be something you’re not? You just can’t catch a break, can you.”

Garrus lifted his glass, half-shrugging, then drained most of it. “It was for the best, I think,” he finally said. “I’d probably have destroyed Tali’s immune system, anyway. Caused all sorts of embarrassment. And all that fuss with _masks_ and _suits_ to worry about would’ve just made everything…a lot less fun.” He gave a little laugh. “I mean, I had enough trouble remembering the, uh…biological ground rules back when _we_ were first getting acquainted. I’d have probably had much worse trouble figuring out which ports to…uh…hmm.” He cleared his throat. “You get my point.”

A smirk touched her lips. “That’s very true." In a way she was relieved that they'd already put things to rest, and that there was no hard feelings. "But that does make me wonder…wouldn’t life have been easier with another dextro? Say I just popped out of existence right here and now...you don’t think that turian eyeing you up over there would have a chance?”

Garrus laughed again, but his eyes had a pensive, serious cast to them, considering her question.

“Hm. Physically, sure. That’s all every other encounter I’ve had was. Never more than one-night stands.”

An interesting point. She shifted in her seat. “Really? You’re one of the most tenacious people I’ve met. Or are turian standards way too high?”

Another third of his glass emptied as he wrestled with an answer. “If I’m in a serious relationship with someone, I want them to _know_ me. Really know me. Not just what they see, or think they see. But that’s a tall order to make, when such a big part of me is tied up in all the things we’ve seen, the crazy things we’ve done. My time on the Normandy became part of who I am. I’m definitely not the hot-headed C-Sec officer I was before I met you. _His_ biggest problem was just paperwork and red tape, not…survival in the face of immortal machines bent on the destruction of all organic life. How do I share myself with someone when I can’t even put into words what I’ve experienced? The most gorgeous turian on the Citadel couldn’t even _begin_ to understand what it was like seeing Sovereign for the first time. Or…or facing the Thorian. Or going through a death-trap relay with every expectation of dying but _surviving_ against all odds thanks to a Commander who knew how to pull her team together. That’s not something for smalltalk.” Garrus shook his head. “The heavy stuff? I’m not good at sharing that with people. There are some things that are part of me that I don’t exactly want to relive through explanations…but it’s so fundamental to my identity that if I don’t share it, I’m never going to feel connected with anyone.”

He swirled his Heatsink around, silent for a moment.

Shepard took another sip of hers. “That’s deep, Garrus,” she commented soberly.

“You wanted an honest answer.”

His words were ringing true. A lot of what he said was…very relevant to her own experiences, and her own past struggles. She gave him a small, sympathetic smile.

“For what it’s worth, though…that’s just the way it is," she told him gently. "We’re soldiers, at the bottom of it all. There’s always going to be that divide between our lives and the civilian lives we protect. It’s just one of the things we have to accept; we take on the trauma to keep it away from them. It’s part of the sacrifices we make for the good of the galaxy. Guess it has to extend to our personal lives too.”

Garrus sighed. “That’s true. Even if we retire it'll probably all still be with us. Everything we’ve experienced…that shapes us. There’s no going back from that.” He looked pensively into his cup. “Unless…we get so blackout drunk tonight we forget everything.”

Shepard's lips narrowed. “You talk like I’m wearing the right kind of shoes to be carrying an unconscious turian home,” she said, pointing down at the highly impractical heels. 

“I’ve seen you do crazier things.” His eyes moved to hers. “Seriously, though. There’s a reason I’m with you, Shepard, here and now, no matter who else more _biologically compatible_ might have been hoping to leave here with me. I don’t have to try and find the words to explain any of the wonders and horrors I’ve seen. Because you’ve been right there with me through it all. Every…single…time. We’ve risked our lives for each other, faced things nobody should have to face and still had each other’s backs no matter what other people thought or said. I…don’t have that with anyone else.”

His hand slid over hers, grasping firmly. She squeezed him back.

“Well, you’ve been one hell of a partner, right from the start,” she answered softly. “I just wish I’d figured out my feelings for you _before_ I went and died.”

There was a little shift in his mandibles; his voice became somewhat more gravelly. “I don’t know about that. If we’d been this close when the old Normandy was destroyed, I don’t think there’d have _been_ an Archangel. Just a crazy turian bastard with a rifle and nothing to lose.”

A shadow of something bitter, almost like a flicker of fear, had descended upon him. Not wanting to let him delve too deeply into the dangerous realm of what-ifs, she gave his knee a gentle, playful nudge with hers. “Well, _luckily_ ,” she reminded him, “it took you almost getting your head blown off for me to realize I wanted you. And then an impending suicide mission to actually get us going.”

That finally wrung a smile out of him, breaking through the grimness that had settled in his eyes. She’d learned to tell a lot of his emotions from his eyes; they were far more expressive than she’d noticed back when turians were still unfamiliar to her, and they conveyed much subtler things than one would expect.

“And _I’m_ lucky you like scars so much.” There was that glimmer to his gaze she was so fond of. “We go back a long way, Shepard,” he went on. “All of this crazy stuff we share binds us closer together than anything I’ve ever known. I knew you were one hell of a leader, that you could _get things done,_ right from the beginning. That’s what drew me to you, that first time we met.”

He leaned closer, the shadows chased away by the flame of his conviction.

“I’ve seen you under fire, I’ve seen you inches from death. I’ve seen you take a hit and get right back up again to rally us all to safety. I’ve seen you when you’re laughing, raging mad, floored by defeat. And I've fallen in love with all of it.”

She didn’t quite know what to say; the last few drinks had put a comfortable haze on the world, and all she could think about was how fiercely she adored him. This was unexpectedly eloquent from Garrus; he must have had this on his mind for some time. Who said shore leave wasn’t a time for some cathartic soul-searching?

“So,” he added in a murmur, raising her hand to his mouth to brush a kiss along it, “that’s why I don’t think anyone but you will be leaving with me tonight.”

* * *

Whether it was the drinks or the way he’d spoken, Shepard felt warmth rising on her face and neck, and could do nothing at this point to dissipate it. Giving up on trying to get it under control, she gave him a smile back. “Wow, Garrus. Look at us. I think we’re finally going soft.”

Garrus chuckled self-consciously, looking down into his drink. “Damn. You’re right…this stuff is making me all weird and sentimental.”

“Hey. I think it’s very sweet.” She leant forward on impulse to press a kiss upon the edge of his scarred mandible. His fingers curled closer around hers in surprise; she didn’t think he ever got used to her kisses. It seemed to invigorate him all at once, making him turn a wide smile on her.

“So…" he said, looking around at the twirling lights. "Shall we end our little therapy session with some dancing, or what?”

Shepard laughed at that outright. “I don’t dance, remember? Not in a million years. Even if I had legs like yours, I'd still find some way to trip over myself. You’re not getting me up there, Garrus, forget it.”

“Hmm. Shame. There’s one dance I’d _really_ wanted to try with you,” he said. “Though maybe somewhere quieter.” He twiddled the little umbrella from her drink between two talons, suspiciously nonchalant. “You humans have this expression…What is it you call it again? The _horizontal tango_? Now I’m sure you’d like that. Very invigorating, I hear. Gets the blood going like you'd never believe.” He leaned close enough for his mandible to brush her cheekbone - now it was her turn to skip a heartbeat. “Something tells me you’d be _very_ good at it.”

Shepard tried and failed to keep control of her smile, playing along as she slid her hand along his proffered palm. “Well, sure, big guy. Maybe you can walk me through it back at my place.” Voice wickedly soft, she added: “ _If_ you think you can even get me horizontal.”

That goaded him. No turian could resist a bit of friendly sparring. His subharmonics palpated through her ribs, rising to her challenge, and she felt his arm circle her waist.

“ _I like my chances_.”

The credit chit slammed down on the reader.


	5. Parting Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only kind of dancing Shepard's good at is sparring - which, after returning to her apartment with Garrus in tow, becomes a word with far more quotation marks around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here comes that Explicit rating!

Shepard had always strongly suspected that the night would end this way.

Their relationship had started out as a mostly physical one, after all – at least, until they’d both fumbled their way around to admitting the feelings they had for each other. They were still learning new things about one another, even now, and despite everything going on around them it had been impossible to get enough. Hell, maybe that was even a contributing factor. Nothing like a galaxy in peril and the pressures of leadership to get a person going. When that spark was lit, the fuse had to burn…for however long it had to.

…Which hopefully wouldn't be for too much longer.

They’d piled clumsily into the taxi shuttle after the bar – Shepard had fallen inelegantly on the way in, losing a heel without even noticing, but Garrus’ hands had caught her and smoothly guided her up the step, touch lingering at her elbow. _God_ , that had been a distraction. It had kept her mind off the embarrassment, that was for sure, and on the whole ride back they’d sat together in charged silence. The human driver prattled on entirely unaware of the soft, layered hiss to Garrus’ breath in the back, where she was sitting with her hand on his thigh. Adrenaline surged in her as though they were coming down in the Kodiak ready for battle; Garrus, too, seemed tense, if the rock-firm set to his leg under her palm was anything to go by.

When the shuttle whirred down into the transit bay on Silversun Strip, descending into the riot of glowing lights and late-night revelers, it wasn’t a moment too soon. What a place, what noise! It was glorious, heady, disorienting. She’d found it noisy and overwhelming at first, but now she could really tune in to the chaotic energy of it. She stumbled out into the vibrant confusion, her exit from the shuttle no more glamorous than her entrance. One bare foot found purchase on the ground, a full couple of inches lower than the other, finally bringing her attention to the missing heel. “Damn it, my shoe…” She stood gingerly on the decking, annoyed that she’d not felt it fall and hoping she wouldn’t stand in anything. Garrus nearly strode into her, coming in hot from the drop-off point.

“It was gonna come off anyway,” he reassured her impatiently, patting her shoulder and hurriedly leading them away from the transit bay. It took a bit of work to match his gait with her uneven feet, but, caught up in the haste, she soon found she didn’t even care. This was _fun_. Stupid, simple, dumb fun, like normal people had. Granted, those people were usually a fair bit younger than they were, but who cared? She felt _alive_ , carefree, if a little light-headed from the Heatsinks.

_Haha. Heat…sink…_

People were staring a little at them as they wove their unsteady way through the crowds towards the bright façade of Tiberius Towers, lit before them like a beacon. They probably weren’t often treated to the sight of a tall, scarred turian bent low to support a human woman with only one shoe and slightly smudged makeup, whose arm was slung around his powerful neck like a soldier bravely returning from battle. _Whatever. Let them stare_ , Shepard thought. There was only one thing on her mind…and, by the looks of it, on Garrus’ too.

She’d gotten a lot better at reading turian faces. As he half-guided, half-carried her along with anxious haste, the wild, determined glint in his eye and tight set to his mandibles made an expression she would categorize as “ _very, extremely horny”_.

“You look amazing tonight, you know that?” Shepard found herself sighing, thoughts demanding to be voiced.

He turned his head to grin down at her, with a fond, amused look. “So do you,” he told her, the scrolling banner of the Armax Arena casting a startlingly blue light in his eyes. “I don’t say this enough, but…disheveled really suits you, Shepard.”

Always the wise-ass. She narrowed her eyes defiantly. “Dignity is for when I’m on ceremony,” she said in dismissal, and then promptly almost rolled her heeled ankle on the steps as they turned for the entrance to Tiberius Towers. Garrus, having been yanked sideways when she tried to catch herself, responded by lifting her right off her feet and proceeding down the last stretch of corridor on the double with her in his arms.

“Hey!” she protested, unceremoniously draped over his cowl and struggling to right herself. “Is this any way to treat your Commander?”

“Pull rank all you want, you’re not breaking your leg when we’re this close to your place,” he told her sternly, carrying her through the gateway. Certainly a good point. A trip to the nearest medical center would sure delay them, so it was probably best to capitulate…for now.

The asari at the high-end furniture boutique gave them an alarmed look when they marched past, but Shepard offered a reassuring “OK” sign over Garrus’ shoulder. Before long, they were up in the comfortable darkness of the fourth-floor hallway, insulated from the hectic sounds of the Ward. Shepard was smartly deposited by the front door, where she smacked her keycard against the reader, pulling Garrus after her.

* * *

The pair of them entered the apartment a little less smoothly than planned; Shepard immediately bent on the threshold to free herself from her remaining shoe, which Garrus hadn’t been expecting; trying to dodge around her, he ended up tripping himself up instead. He collided with her, grabbing hold of her shoulders but managing to twist around to avoid landing on her, taking the floor with _his_ shoulder instead. Shepard came down on top of him with an “Oof!” of surprise, remaining shoe clattering to the ground.

Garrus groaned, sprawled on the polished tiles under her. “Ow…damn it.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, lifting herself up to look at him. “You OK? I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever taken you down.”

“I’m fine. The only thing injured is my pride.”

When he didn’t move, she grinned down at him, the rise and fall of his cowl under her giving her ideas. “Do I win this round already, then?”

Competition was in his very blood. Nobody was quite as competitive as Garrus when it came to marksmanship or sparring – except maybe James, but even James didn’t get that sharp, steely look of almost predatory determination when stakes were high and reputations got involved. Garrus’ piercing eyes narrowed at her, interest flaring as bright and hot as ever.

“I don’t think so.” He gave a playful snarl, smoothly rolling out from under her, but she was lightly back up on her feet and dodging away before he could grab at her. The game was on, now. With some distance between them she faced him, hiking up her dress so she could bend her knees into the proper stance, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Come on, then, Vakarian,” she goaded him. “You wanna dance, right? We might as well use this big open space. Just _try_ and take me down.”

His eyes darted over her exposed thighs, mandibles stirring, and he growled: “Oh, it’s _on_.” In a flash, he’d freed himself from the confines of the upper parts of his outfit and was throwing it aside, pectoral plates catching the light from the window with an almost metallic sheen. He was leaner without armor on, but Shepard knew there was serious muscle under those plates. He needed arms of steel to heft up huge sniper rifles with all the attachments and hold them rock steady like they weighed nothing; it was something years of training and conditioning had given him. Now, all of that muscle power was coiled tight as a spring and aimed at her as he assumed the turian sparring position, attention rapt on her, calculating an opening.

Shepard kept her gaze steady, still smirking his way; those flexible, back-jointed legs were far more mobile than hers, but he was larger and heavier, hindered by a more rigid spine, and couldn’t twist as quick. All she had to do was keep an eye on his strikes. Easy.

Garrus lunged forward, taking a far longer step than any human would have managed, going for a straight tackle. His excitement didn’t hinder his discipline or the clean, purposeful force of his movements – but then again, neither did Shepard’s. She dodged him by a hair, ducking his arms and whirling round behind him, out of reach. This was the kind of dancing she was good at. He twisted after her, moving into position, feinting right but then going for the left, almost catching her arms. Almost…but not quite. Her side dragged against his as she shifted her weight to carry his momentum in a different direction, slipping away before he could grab a proper hold. The scrape of his plates on her skin was unexpected, tantalizing – they rarely ever sparred with this little clothing on.

“Where’s your form? You nearly had me,” she teased, already panting, even though this exertion was nothing at all.

“Laugh all you want, Shepard, I’m _going_ to have you. You're driving me crazy.” He pivoted around, going low, but she blocked his pin hold.

They grappled, weights shifting, straining to overcome each other’s center of gravity. “Head in the game, soldier,” she grunted, as though she herself wasn’t getting distracted by the heat of his body, or the now-familiar metallic-musk scent of his own arousal. She swept a foot forward; turians were remarkably steady on their legs, being always on their toes, but there were moves that could floor any biped. Shepard braced a leg behind his spur, twisting around in a bid to use his own mass against him –

His knees bent, legs suddenly changing position. His arm darted out low, lifting her unexpectedly in one powerful movement, breaking her stance and bringing her up so her weight pressed her close against him, effectively immobilized. The only way to reverse this kind of hold would involve sending them both crashing down on the cold tiles – which, in the circumstances, was far less preferable to her current position.

Instead, she wrapped her legs tight around his waist, grasping his face in her hands, and kissed him hard, hungrily, feeling his mandibles jump against her palms.

“I’m sure that was a foul,” Shepard murmured breathlessly against his mouth.

“Dirty thoughts, dirty moves,” he whispered, and responded in kind to her kisses with a sensuous growl. When his tongue flicked against hers that was it; her mind became a haze of hunger, craving the heat of him, his hands, the unforgiving thrust of mobile hips. A friendly spar sure got the blood going.

She was slipping out of his grip on her, her dress riding up, one leg caught on the sharp jut of his hipbone, but his arms held her tight against him, caressing the line of her back.

“Still didn't get me on the floor,” she whispered. One of his hands travelled up the back of her thigh, making a loving foray over human flesh, getting caught up under her hemline…

There was a little _twang_ , and her underwear fell forlornly down her leg.

“Crap. Sorry.” Garrus withdrew a wayward talon, looking contrite, but she only laughed, stroking her hands over the sides of his neck.

“They were coming off anyway.” She winked and pulled him down for another kiss, muffling his soft groan.

“Shepard…” he whispered. His grip on her was tight; he was always careful with the talons, but she’d grown to love the way they bit into her when he forgot himself. And he was already slipping: the close contact with her was making sure of that. Even through two layers of fabric she could feel him, fully extended, trapped between their bodies. She ground her pelvis forward wickedly.

“Bringing out the big guns now, huh?” she teased, slyly wondering how to negotiate his pants.

His growl was mostly subvocal, throbbing through her ribcage. “Shepard, I’ve been half-out all night.”

There was nothing for it; she met his eyes and lit her match directly by the powder keg. “ _Then what are you waiting for_?”

* * *

Sharp fangs, each half the length of her finger, glinted at her, and suddenly the dress was up under ribs and her ass was hitting the back of the couch and Garrus’ pointed face was bent low to her, kissing her, breath hot over her neck, her collarbone…

Shepard clung to him, certain her heart would stop when his tongue slid smoothly along the cleft between her breasts, as though he were starved for the taste of her skin. Now she knew this dress had been the greatest idea in the world. He traced a gleaming path right up to her collarbone, curling there, one hand fumbling somewhere at the front of his pants.

“You need more fingers,” she panted.

“I _got_ this.”

Boy, did he. She felt him rather than saw him when he finally freed himself, but she knew well enough what to expect by now. Not the bright blue the Navy grunts had spread rumors about, but instead a dark and dusky indigo, so deep it was almost black, much like his tongue. It was a warm, slick weight against her, disconcerting to anyone unprepared, but thrilling to someone who was. _Bet they don’t know about the bone in it_. He shifted around a bit, her lower body only aware of a moment of slithering, awkward chaos, and then the breath she’d unknowingly been holding came out in a rush when they suddenly fit together, closely, _perfectly_.

“God, Garrus…!” she gasped, her voice drowned out by the raw moan that came from between his jaws; it was like this, always like this, every time. For a brief second it would seem that they were too different, that it was crazy, that it could never work – but then they’d hit the right angle and their bodies would meld together as though made for each other.

_I guess there are some constants, even with alien biology_ , he’d said to her once. _Shaft A goes into Slot B...you know._ _You can’t go wrong with that setup_. And he’d been right; as different as they were, they weren’t so incompatible that they didn’t fit together. They just fit _differently._

And very, _very_ pleasurably.

Shepard locked her legs above those bony hips, surrendering to him, greedy for him, her whole body shunted by the force of his thrusts. Her head was still full of all the things he’d said tonight, and she empathized with every last word. There was nobody she’d ever be closer to than him. Nobody she would rather have with her, on her, in her, alien or not. Turians could be terrifying bastards, physically, and thirty years ago the _last_ thing any human would have thought of doing would have been to mate with one…but even as Garrus growled over her, tall and armored, his fangs on full display, she felt _safe_ rather than afraid. He was hers, and she was his, and they’d move planets for each other.

She kissed his throat, lips running over the good side, where the nerve endings were still highly sensitive. All that research and trial and error had sure paid off; this was one of the things that drove him crazy. Who would have thought that tough skin could feel so much in those secret little spots? He answered the nibble she gave with the bite of his talons, making her arch into him, breasts pressed close against his cowl. She let her head fall back, curling her nails over the sharp dorsal plates at his spine, giving him an opening to drag his tongue over her.

“Ohh, _Shepard_ …” he groaned against the base of her neck, subvocals laden with love and hips never letting up their savage rhythm. She panted encouragement against him, ferociously enjoying the rough urgency; she knew her inner thighs were going to be raw in the morning, but there was no interrupting this to grab the oil right now. If anything, it only fed the pleasure mounting within her, already at fever pitch.

When that tension finally broke it _shattered,_ sweet and fierce, and she surrendered to it utterly, crying out as the pleasure ripped through her. She never used to be vocal at all, but with Garrus…with Garrus everything was different.

A human man wouldn’t suddenly flare out a pair of mandibles and say something that gave her a translator error, for example.

Whatever obscure swearwords those were that her translator couldn’t parse out of Palaven Standard, she could still catch the gist pretty easily; sure enough, his legs started shuddering, sending a quiver rippling through her whole body, and a long, strangled growl of completion left him. His hips hit hers hard, once, twice, holding them there and almost tipping them back over the edge of the couch. Shepard clung tightly to him, panting for breath, her sweaty hair sticking to her forehead, keeping him in a close embrace. Her heartbeat had almost started to slow down before he finally raised his head, eyes heavy, a luxuriously spent look in them.

“Wow…” Her translator definitely picked _that_ up. Shepard gave him a fond, lingering kiss, and touched her forehead against his browplate in a very turian expression of affection; another thing she'd picked up from him.

“I think you won that one after all,” she murmured, her hand tracing over the edge of his cowl, the nicks and scars on it rough under her thumb.

“Mmm. Well. I don’t think there were any losers,” he ventured, voice purring with contentment, shooting her a shrewd look. She grinned back at him.

“I’ll say,” she said, shifting as he withdrew from her smoothly, helping her to her feet in spite of the fact that his knees seemed as wobbly as hers were. And how the hell had she managed to stay (mostly) in this dress? That had to be testimony to how worked up they’d been.

“Ugh…I need to get this thing off me. You coming to the shower?” she asked, but found him looking down at the floor and the couch behind her instead. That was a look she knew well. She sighed, closing her eyes. “Damage report?”

Garrus’ mandibles drew in guiltily. “It’s, uh…lucky you went for the leather upholstery and not the fabric. I think it'll come out this time.” He bent down to nudge a little kiss against her cheek. “You go on ahead and get showered. I’ll get this cleaned up and be right there.”

Shepard’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. “Vinegar’s in the top cupboard, tiger.”


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard deals with some morning-after discomforts; Garrus offers a little help. Their date concludes with a sunset on an alien planet, just for them.

If sunrise ever came to the Wards, it came in the form of familiar red friction burns cropping up on Shepard’s chest, arms and inner thighs in the morning.

_Damn it…_

Such a thing was only an expected outcome of any vigorous…interaction with Garrus, especially when they’d been so lax in taking the proper precautions. Without the barrier of clothing or a hastily-applied layer of oil, plates could really do a number on human skin; they’d learned repeatedly that dear old Mordin had been right about the chafing. She was a textbook example this morning: every area of flesh that had been in contact with moving turian parts yesterday was now highlighted in an eye-catching raw pink. What a mercy it was to not be on the ship today…mysterious rashes and a shifty-eyed Garrus might have raised some eyebrows.

Not that the pain bothered her much. It was only a sting, a little soreness. Something sweeter than a keepsake injury from a memorable battle, closer to the pleasurable ache of stretched muscles inside her. She and Garrus had never been strangers to rough, quick deals wherever they could get them, which was how she usually wound up with these kinds of marks. Hurried, urgent little affairs on the quiet after hard missions… The sort of pressure-venting, life-affirming encounter where they could work off their tension together. She suspected this was the kind of thing he might have gotten used to as Archangel, if what he'd said at the bar was to be believed; no strings, stress relief only, chasing that rush of satisfaction…only now the mutual care and respect they had for one another added a whole other dimension.

One thing they shared, apparently, was something of a penchant for the fast and dirty now and then. Any chance to let loose was twice as gratifying for two people raised in strictness, protocol and discipline. It was funny how they played into the stereotype… Back in the day she used to hear insalubrious tales about the turian military, speculation about how much deviance likely simmered under those hard plates. But then again, that was what the cadets always used to say about female senior officers, too, so it had to be taken with a grain of salt. And now here they were: a Commander and a Palaven-born turian. Diplomats, war heroes and advisors by day and insatiable beasts by night. Maybe there was wisdom in barracks gossip after all.

Shepard pulled herself slowly upright, wincing slightly as sore thighs chafed together. The skin was a little rough and raised, scuffed by the sheets, seeing as she hadn’t bothered with clothes after the shower.

Last night she’d just hopped right on into bed to wrap herself around the solid comfort of Garrus’ carapace, falling asleep within seconds of laying her head down close to his. Although her bed was empty this morning, to say that she was now alone and there was no sign of him would be untrue; by the looks of the disturbance in the covers, he’d only gotten up recently, and a trained sniper’s presence could be felt if you knew how to look for it. One of the pillows beside her lay at a strange angle, pummeled into submission, clearly having been used under a non-human head at some point during the night. It looked as though he’d sat next to her for a while, maybe tinkering with his omni-tool. She smiled fondly, laying a palm over the indentations in the pillow.

Garrus never slept for very long at a time. He’d lie down with her, of course, but it wouldn’t be for the full seven hours of sleep Shepard always aimed for. It was most likely a turian thing. Back on her first tour on the Normandy SR-1, she remembered whispers that the Spectre Nihlus needed no sleep, stalked the decks at all hours, and was never to be seen in his assigned sleeping pod. For many of the human crew it fed into his intimidating, alien mystique, since many had never encountered a Spectre _or_ a turian before on a human ship. It had been easy to cultivate an image of him as a hard, relentless shadow, never resting, always watching. In retrospect, she didn’t really believe it. The truth was seldom something so glamorous; the reality probably was that he simply took naps in safe spots at opportune moments, much like she’d noticed Garrus doing. From experience she knew that Garrus could drop off in five seconds flat at any time, in any place, no matter how uncomfortable or loud his surroundings – even on the _Mako_ , once, on a long drive to the extraction point. Kaiden had stared at him all the way, hanging on to his seat restraints, and Shepard had been just as stunned.

This guy could sleep sitting up in full armor on the Kodiak, visor still on and bathing his face in gentle blue, head gently dipped forward as if the roaring of the thrusters was nothing. Shepard had to admire him for it. It was a damned good skill, to be able to recuperate any time, any place, and tactically she could see it for the asset that it was. Especially since he would still wake instantly at the slightest disturbance, ready to go and sharp as ever – likely something drummed into him from his earliest boot camp days on Palaven.

Outside of missions, during downtime with her, he’d sleep for longer but still only sporadically, getting up every few hours to work on his scopes or browse the extranet. One thing remained constant, however: he would always linger near her bed, if she wasn’t up yet. Circling the nest, as it were. Just like now; she had a strong suspicion that he was somewhere near, even if he wasn’t in the same room.

It was nice to know there was someone near. But the real treat was to wake up during the night and catch Garrus asleep, _really_ asleep, curled on his side around her with those dark eyelids shut. Even his hard face could look soft when he was resting next to her, in a way that it didn’t during his post-mission dozes. A tangible sign that he was letting his guard down around her, in little ways, letting her in. Being in a completely restive state was a rarity for someone attuned to constant vigilance.

Shepard shifted the covers over, legs rustling the sheets, and sure enough, her resident sniper was alerted. He appeared silent as a shadow from the hallway, talons gently tapping on the floor, and came to a stop just inside the door with his head tilted to one side.

“Shepard,” Garrus said warmly. “You’re awake.”

“So that’s where you’d run off to,” she remarked with a fond smile. “I was getting lonely over here.”

He leaned his hip against the doorframe, arms crossed against his keel.

“I didn’t go far. There’s too much to admire about you fast asleep. That and I wanted to snoop around the perimeter; old habits, you know. There’s a great vantage point from that landing.”

“My guardian angel, huh?” she teased him, and his mandibles gave a little self-conscious jitter.

He got strangely bashful about the Archangel name, now and then, as if nervous she’d think him arrogant. For an elite sniper and the best damn marksman Shepard had ever seen, he was endearingly humble. “Something like that.” He moved over to the table and picked something up from it. “I, uh, grabbed you some of this from the bathroom. Thought you might need it when you woke up.” He passed it to her: a tub of heavy-duty salve. “I guess there wasn’t time for oiling up during the…sparring.”

Shepard grinned, taking it from him gratefully. “You _definitely_ wouldn’t have been able to grab me if I had. Maybe I’d have had to work harder at letting you win.”

He gave her a shrewd look. “You sound like you’re aiming for a rematch once you recover.”

“Maybe I am. Though we’d probably need to be better prepared next time.”

She unscrewed the lid, looking herself over for the patches that were going to need it the most. There was a line down her sternum where they’d been chest-to-keel, a few minor grazes on the softer skin inside her elbows, some very angry patches on her inner thighs…

The bed sagged a little – a testament to its decadent softness – as Garrus perched on the edge beside her, frontal plate lowering in concern. He cast an eye over her. “Looks pretty bad. Is that an allergic reaction? I read a bit more about human skin while you were sleeping, just in case…”

Shepard shook her head fondly. “No, Garrus, not this time either,” she reassured him. “I’d even say that between the meds and the…regular exposure, I’m probably building up a tolerance. This is just good old-fashioned carpet burn. Except…not from carpets.” She stifled a smile. “I’m just not covered in hide and plates like you are.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how you humans handle having such soft, fragile skin,” he muttered, running an emphatic finger across her stomach. She couldn’t help the shiver from the light touch, gooseflesh rising, and his eyes flicked up to hers. “But the sensitivity must be…a bonus.”

“Hah,” Shepard laughed. “Depends who’s doing the touching.”

“Like a…certain clueless turian, who’s just trying his best?”

“Now _he_ knows how to get through to me.” She winked at him, and he held the pot for her courteously while she dug into it, sitting cross-legged to apply the salve to the worst areas.

“Need a hand?” he asked innocently after a while. “It’s the least I can do to make it up to you.” _Oh, no_. She recognized that deep pitch to his voice, no matter how much nonchalance he put in it.

Shepard gave him a warning look. “If you rub any part of yourself against me any more than you already have I’m not gonna have any skin _left_. Then you can explain to Dr Chakwas why your Commander needs a full-body graft.”

“Point taken.”

Her hands paused in their industrious smearing. “But…if you just used your fingertips…maybe it wouldn’t do any harm.” _Damn it, she was going all soft on him._

“Uh-huh?” Garrus leaned forward, ghosting a kiss over her shoulder: a turian kiss, just a brush of the maxillary plates. She knew those kisses well. It was fortunate that the redness of her collarbone was masking the inevitable blush. He dunked his fingers in the salve, moving to apply it to her chest, but she stopped him, and he looked up at her in confusion. Holding his gaze, keeping her expression carefully blank and calm, she slowly guided his wrist downward to the patch at her inner thigh.

She heard a telltale rumble in his throat. His belly tightened visibly, and low down on his pelvis a pair of plates she was _also_ very well acquainted with parted a little. It was a tiny movement, only verging on opening, not quite enough to expose the dark and glistening sliver of flesh between them…but a sure sign of his interest nonetheless.

The restraint Garrus showed was stellar, at least at first. He was very diligent with applying the salve to her lower belly and thighs. A little too diligent, perhaps, because after a while he seemed to also be getting _extra_ areas of her without meaning to. Her breath hitched at every accidental brush of a knuckle against the juncture of her thighs, just the barest of touches each time with every other pass of his hand against the part of her leg he was focusing on.

“That better?” he asked.

“It’s heavy-duty stuff. Works like a dream.” She knew he was toying with her, trying to gauge her reactions slyly. Each little feathering of contact against her hitched up her heart rate, warmed the blood. And God was it driving her crazy.

She closed her eyes briefly. “Garrus.”

“Mmm?” he looked up at her with as much innocence as a man could with a face like a hawk made of knives.

“You are the best sniper I know. Your fingers are _rock-steady_ on any rifle. You think you’re fooling me with the clumsy hands?”

He feigned innocence, fingers still circling. “I’ve had decades to get used to my guns. Human bodies? Whole other story. Smooth skin gets so slippery. And when you’re this salved up…”

“You’re a little tease, Vakarian. I know you must have other things to do today. You’re not one to have an empty agenda.”

“There’s time,” he told her patiently. “We’re on shore leave. What better occasion for a little R&R?”

Shepard had to fight against the laugh. “I’ve had my rest, so you’re providing the recreation? Is that it?”

“I’m _providing_ some TLC for my injured squadmate. I know ways to soothe you that don’t just involve salve. Minimal contact, I promise. No chafing this morning. We’ll give you a chance to heal up.” He bent to kiss her abdomen, the warmth of his breath making her breath catch.

“Soothing, huh?” she repeated. His hand was so very warm on her leg.

Garrus grinned, and then brought his head down.

* * *

Thirty seconds later his hands were lifting her to his jaws and a long and muscular tongue had speared her full, working every bit as thoroughly as his palms had. True to his promise, they’d taken it slow, but the moment she’d breathlessly whispered a plea to him, they’d become locked in an ever-spiraling feedback loop of her every sound driving him to greater ruthlessness. It was hard to quantify anything more electric than the way he looked down there, relishing her, bringing out that side of them that rarely came to light.

Sometimes this kind of thing was all they had time for. He could drive her out of her mind, ramping up the pleasure inside her, a quick-release solution whenever they didn’t have time for fully undressing. Right now she could barely even _think_ for the intensity of it, her head a blissful haze apart from the desperation coiling tighter and tighter inside her.

“You’re gonna…give yourself…cramps…” Shepard panted, fingers curling in the covers, whole body taut and trembling at the edge of a great precipice.

He smoothly extricated his tongue for just a moment to answer: “Just wait and see what I’m gonna give _you_.” Her eyes met his, giving her a split second to be treated to the sight of his mandibles sliding into _that_ grin and then –

 _Then_ her ankles were knotting themselves somewhere behind his cowl and his tongue was doing some kind of… _undulation_ inside her, curling, sliding, until she was arching helplessly into his smug turian face to the point of imprinting the shape of his mandibles into her flesh. He devoured her, never letting up on those nerve endings she’d showed him both inside and out, reading the flutter of muscles to pitch one wave into the next, and the next, and the next…

When he finally raised his head with a snarl-laugh of satisfaction, gravity came back to her body and she slumped down, boneless and shining with perspiration, legs sliding off his shoulders.

She stared up at the ceiling, bare chest rising and falling like she’d just run a mile, face burning.

“ _Damn_ ,” she breathed after a good few seconds. “I don’t know about soothing, but…that definitely got my mind off the chafing.” She looked at him. “You sure must have made a lot of girls happy in your lifetime, Garrus.”

He gave a little chuckle, laying himself out on one elbow.

“I can’t take all the credit. Your particular level of sensitivity makes things very easy for me,” he said smoothly. “That and the obscene cheat sheets on human anatomy you've sent me in the past.”

She sighed happily, rolling against him, draping an affectionate arm over his chipped cowl.

“Now I’m the one making a mess of you,” she noted. “At least the couch was spared this time.” She opened one eye. “How did that cleanup go? If Joker’s little party is still on here next week, they’d never let me live down any…evidence.”

“All gone,” he assured her, rubbing a broad thumb on her shoulder. “Though, uh. There was some on the stairs. You left me a trail to follow.”

“Oh,” Shepard said, contemplative. She had to pause to take it in. “ _Wow_. Really?”

He cleared his throat self-consciously, and only nodded. That got a laugh out of her.

“Guess that’s what I get for inviting you to take a load off about a year ago,” she said, shaking her head and grinning. “You’ve been holding me to my word ever since.”

A pensive look came over him, thumb slowing. “A year ago…huh.” Garrus leaned his head against the pillow. “Shepard, do we…have an _anniversary_? I mean…we were casual, back then, still learning each other, not aiming for anything serious…but it still meant a lot to me. Shouldn’t we have celebrated somehow?”

Her finger traced the edge of a mandible. “You don’t call getting drunk and ramming me over the couch last night a celebration?”

He tucked in his chin to shoot a stern look down at her. “Since when have you been so _nasty_? It can’t be _my_ influence.” Rolling over a bit, he extricated an arm to bring up his omni-tool. “I’ve got an idea...”

Shepard tried her best to squint at what he was doing, but he raised his arm out of her sight, fingers tapping away quickly.

“Hey – are you making some reservation? Because I’ve had enough _going out_ for a lifetime. And if I have any more alcohol I will not hold it down,” she warned him, but he seemed entirely unfazed.

“ _Relax_ , Shepard. Your boyfriend has a little surprise for you. And there are no dresses required this time. More’s the pity.”

The back of her head hit the pillow, and she squinted up at him suspiciously, trying to guess. “If this is a round at the Armax Arena, the answer is also hell no.”

He dropped his arm, whatever transaction he had made on his omni-tool finally disappearing from sight. “Shepard. Honey. We’re on _shore leave_. This is our moment away from all the guns and fighting and excitement.” He absently examined a talon, and added as an afterthought: “Besides, I know you’d never forgive me if I beat your high score.”

* * *

The exterior of the building they'd arrived at later that day had offered few clues to what its purpose was; as far as Shepard could tell it wasn’t any kind of eating or drinking establishment like the one they’d visited previously. It had more of a technical, utilitarian feel to it, with cables running the corridors, and walls of dim hallways insulated with some kind of foam. It was cramped but kind of cozy, though her mind still buzzed relentlessly with questions. A mystery indeed.

“Where is this?” she asked Garrus again, following his lead with just a little trepidation.

“Little surprise. I booked it last minute, but they still had it available. There’s a lot I can do on my new salary.” They turned left along another passageway, lined with doors. “Thought you could do with something more laid-back, after last night…and this morning,” he added as an afterthought. “Give us both a chance to recuperate.”

Shepard looked around them some more as they passed piping and switchboards, trying to find any indications as to what this place contained. It couldn’t be anything too fancy; she was back in her comfy, practical fatigues, which let her move much more easily and were kinder on her scrapes. Those were healing nicely now under the effects of the medicated salve…and, of course, Garrus’ thoughtful hand.

“Over here,” Garrus said in a low voice, and brought her to one of the nondescript doors, surrounded by a network of neat wiring and cables and gently pulsing lights. She didn’t have time to squint at the little display on the control panel before Garrus had swiped a keycard against it, and taken her hand. Then, they finally went through the door and entered…

A vast, panoramic beachfront.

Shepard slowed to a stop, looking around herself, blinking in the sudden light. As far as she could see, a glittering sea sparkled under the soft glow of the sky, stretched out over the horizon and framed by craggy russet cliffs and spilling dunes. Under her feet, a fine and pale sand cushioned her boots, without a trace of shell-shards or stones. And above…Above her, two suns shone in the sky, dim and hot, setting the it aglow with shades of green and blue and pink behind swathes of wispy, dark clouds. By the looks of it a summer storm was being chased away by the near-dusk, scattering over the water far away as the gentle waves and surf hissed over the sand. Some stars already winked between those dark filaments of cloud, and alien creatures browsed the rockpools that reflected it all.

It was beautiful, otherworldly. Warm air caressed her face, heavy with a balmy heat, and there was a whispering in the fronds of spiny trees on the cliffs, moved by the cooling breeze that stirred her hair. It brought with it scents, too… A smell of salt and the faint perfume of flowers she had no name for suffused that little breeze, and she was entirely lost for words for a few moments.

“What…?” she whispered in pure wonder, barely able to process it all.

Garrus took her hand, bringing it tenderly to the side of his face.

“A sim,” he admitted softly. “But it’s my favourite. A few of us at C-Sec used to pitch in to book this for a day off every year. It was popular with everyone, not just turians. One of the guys would set up a grill, and we'd pitch in on the dextro steaks. Great atmosphere. I think all of this was based on tech from combat training sims – remember Pinnacle Station?”

It was starting to click. “Of course…” Now that he had said it, she could begin to see the telltale clues: the subtle fade-jump to the waves as they reset, the barely noticeable flatness to the sky, the way the curvature of the room made the distant cliffs bow in a little. But it was still very convincing, and very, very beautiful.

“Is this Palaven?” Shepard asked reverently, turning around herself to take in the impressive illusory landscape.

Garrus looked up at the clouds, a little twinkle to his eye. “Well. Something similar. A little place called “Tropical Paradise Beach #2”, to be exact. I figured this would be the next best thing to taking you home with me.” His mandibles twitched in humour. “No radiation to worry about. A lot kinder on human skin. And there’s nothing here that could ever hurt you.”

“No virtual geth popping out to fight us, then?” she asked, mouth quirking in a little half-smile, remembering all those training runs. She, Garrus and Wrex had wiped the floor in every scenario; she still had that old apartment on Intai'sei to prove it, which presumably was still out there.

“You’ll want the Armax Arena for that.” He winked, and they sat down together to admire the view.

Shepard laughed as he kicked off his boots, stretching out his feet and digging his talons into the sand, and she did the same. It was warm between her toes, somehow, but cooler under the surface, likely warmed by whatever lamps powered the suns overhead.

“Not bad for a room full of projectors,” Shepard commented, a clear understatement. She was loving this place, even if it wasn’t real.

“A few use them for honeymoons, if they’re too rich for a hotel but don’t quite have the credits for a trip planetside.”

She smiled. “I can see why. This is a beautiful place.” The crablike critters over by the rock pools continued their randomized feeding loops, and side by side she and Garrus rested in the warm sand, basking in the sunlight.

After a while, she admitted quietly: “I appreciate this. Really. It’s been a while since I could relax like this, somewhere scenic. I’ve had…bad experiences on shore leave.”

Garrus lowered his eyes. “Elysium?” he guessed, voice soft.

“Yeah. Ever since then it was always…pretty hard to switch off. Something always seems to happen, wherever I am. It’s like I have to be on my guard all the time.”

His arm settled around her shoulders in reassuring solidarity, comforting her.

“A respected Commander once told me that’s just the sacrifice we make, for the good of the galaxy…but it’s never a sacrifice we have to make alone,” Garrus said, and gave her a little squeeze. “I always listen to her advice.”

Shepard smiled, the heaviness melting away from her. He was right; conflict came and went, but she had a team, and would never be alone, whatever came their way. Cerberus, the Reapers, and death itself hadn't yet managed to break their bonds entirely. And most importantly, she had _him_ – loyal, steadfast Garrus, watching her six, trusting her with all his heart.

“Thanks for doing this with me.” Her foot nudged his, and she leaned her head against his cowl, the breeze lifting her hair gently.

“Anytime. Think of it as window-shopping for our retirement.” Garrus tilted back his chin, squinting pensively over the dunes. “Now…what are your thoughts on secluded beachfront condos?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This has been great fun to write, and the comments and kudos have really made me smile. I extruded this thing from my giant Word doc of notes, where I have bits and pieces for just about every game - this includes more stuff based around the Citadel DLC, which would probably end up as a continuation of this fic (though I may play about with some Mass Effect 1 ideas first). See you soon! <3


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